Goals
by hakuen
Summary: Alin's last race up the Agvir Wood. [written for AirgiodSLV for Yuletide 2017.]


**960**

* * *

St. Agvir's Day felt like it had come early this year, or perhaps that was just Alin's impatience to get his final race up the Agvir Wood out of the way. The competition was only for children, after all, and though he was eager to see if he could win a third year in a row, he was even more eager to come out the other side of it into adulthood.

Young adulthood, all right. It still counted.

He caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see that the rising wind had stolen a ribbon-end from his foster sister's hand. Cailet was scowling at the ribbon as it danced just out of reach above her head, trapped between others' ribbons such that it couldn't fly entirely away, but far enough to bedevil her. The corners of his lips quirked up, the smallest of smiles, as he watched her. Then his view was blocked out by a mass of blue cloth as someone stepped in front of him.

A brown coif hid the boy's hair from view, but Alin knew its precise color, the thick unruly mass of it that his mother had threatened to shave off if a single lock of it escaped into view today. The bright blue longvest outlined a thin but muscular body, unexpectedly broad shoulders sticking out like a bony coatrack. Someday he would more than fulfill the promise of those shoulders, but for now, he was simply a young man in the awkward stage after his first major growth spurt, all gangly limbs and quick smile.

"Val." To Alin's dismay, his voice cracked on the word. He reached out to snag Val's sleeve, tugging at him until he turned his head, warm brown eyes lowering to meet Alin's pale blue. "You should go help her."

Val gave him a bemused look, then turned back to look at Cailet and her ribbon predicament. "And ruin all that fun she's having? A cutpiece says she'll start practicing her swears out loud instead of just in her head in another minute or two. Besides, by now she's invested in it. How would you feel to be cheated out of a rightful victory?"

Alin felt his mouth crinkle up oddly in the way it often did around Val, the disapproving frown that he ought to wear getting twisted around by the wide smile that Val's attention brought. "Well. Maybe a boost up, then."

"Fair enough, Alin-O." Whistling, Val slid off between the people standing around to watch the younger competitors. When Alin saw him again a few minutes later, he had Cailet on his shoulders and the wayward silver ribbon clenched between his teeth. Alin watched as Cailet fussed with the edge of Val's coif, poking likely-to-be-sticky fingers under the edge of it to shove any rebellious hairs away from danger. Val's hands, still summer-dark and seemingly enormous below skinny wrists, braced her while she tilted this way and that, chattering away at him the entire time.

Suddenly her head shot up and she stilled, then started waving wildly. Alin watched as an anonymous grey-coifed head bobbed through the crowd, taller than most, until emerging at Cailet's side where he turned and, grinning up at her, proved to be Alin's brother Taig.

After a brief conference, Taig and Val exchanged burdens, Cailet scrambling across to cling to Taig's back and curl across his shoulders like an excitable limpet, and the ribbon being retrieved from Val's mouth to ...be regarded with much disgust and held reluctantly between two fingers by Taig. From whence, of course, the wind promptly whipped it away again.

"You can't win them all, I suppose." Alin snorted and turned to check the line of his competitors. A few more rounds of "St. Agvir's Windfall Apple" and it would be time for him to blow them all away. This year he was aiming for the first word of the chorus—a lofty goal, but one he modestly felt to be well within his capabilities. Who else in Ostinhold's collective memory had won with a new record twice back-to-back, after all? Nobody, that was who. Alin treated the air in front of him to a firm nod.

"Talking to Wraiths again?" a teasing voice came. One of Val's unsettlingly broad palms brushed over Alin's head, then down to curve along the back of his neck.

Alin's skin prickled as though he had indeed seen a Wraith, but the sudden burning catch of his lungs was entirely new. He stuttered a few consonants before giving up and shaking his head.

"Nervous, huh?" Val ducked down to look into Alin's face, the crinkle of his eyes as sympathetic as his ever-deepening voice.

"N-no." Even as he cursed himself, cursed his disobedient voice, and most of all cursed his pale, pale freckled skin, he felt a rush of brilliant red washing over his face. Alin scrunched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. "No."

Val hesitated, and his hand slid a little ways toward Alin's shoulder, started to rise, was set back down again. "Oh. I, ah..." The silence stretched out until Alin was practically vibrating with it. _I don't know what's wrong with me_ , he wanted to scream, _I don't understand any of this_ , but then Val's hand was sliding down to the center of Alin's back and he was tugging him in for a half-hug.

"I'm fine." Alin's forehead could just hit Val's collarbone now, and the year and a half that Val had on him meant Alin had always been playing catch-up, but in this moment he felt the gap between them keenly. "It's my turn next, isn't it? Here," he pushed off from Val's chest and turned blindly for the starting line, "keep yourself busy while I'm winning. And do please try not to slobber on any more ribbons."

Val snorted. "Spoken like the perfect Blood. All right." It was clear he wasn't convinced, but he let Alin go with nothing more but a rough pat on the shoulder for luck. "Ah, there's Jaym's lovely older sister, I'll go make sure she knows to cheer for you. If we... well, I'll make sure to congratulate you on your inevitable victory before we go anywhere," muttering under his breath, "if I'm that lucky."

Alin couldn't explain what he felt right then even to himself, and frankly didn't want to try. His name was being called and he had to get this cramp out of his windpipe or he might not set a final record after all. "Thanks, Val."

"Anytime, Alin-O!" And with a last brilliant grin over his crookedly cleft chin, Val was gone.

* * *

He set the record. While he was carried away on the shoulders of his cousins, he looked past the Wood and spotted Val with the oldest Oslir girl. They both waved and Val winked at him, shouting something. Alin hesitated.

The girl cocked her head sideways and slid a quick glance between them. For reasons unknown, she began to smile...took a step back and booted Valirion Maurgen right in the backside, shooing him away toward Alin when he gave her a wounded look. Alin burst out laughing, in the grip of victory and youth, and waved madly as Val ran to him without a single backward glance.

The burning of his cheeks, Alin assured himself, was only from exertion.


End file.
